Where You Are
by OrangeShipper
Summary: He couldn't accept Lavinia's sacrifice, of her life, her children, her future, and then give her the brush-off when he was well again... Well, he couldn't, could he? But, just perhaps, there was a way back for him to the woman he loved after all. Matthew/Mary, AU from 2x07. T for now.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: It's been eighty four years... Well, no, but it's been nearly four and that feels like a lifetime ago. This was meant to be dipping my toes back in before I continue An End To All Things, but it seems some inspiration has returned and I'm not sure how long this will be!_

 _Beginning within 2x07... because I surprised myself that I haven't tackled this properly before (besides oneshot wish-fulfilment like Feel), and I just love S2. Matthew's conviction to marry Lavinia is such a fixed point to me... until I rewatched and thought of something that might have made him think differently._

 _Lastly, I have reading Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell to thank because it made me miss writing and fandom so much that I came back!_

* * *

 **Where You Are**

The car was almost ready to go, cases filled with their few things from Downton strapped ready on its rack, ready to bear them back to their more rightful home of Crawley House. Waiting for Matthew to come through from his room for the last time, Lavinia cast her eyes around the vast hall, feeling her heart full with all that they'd been through there and the fact that Matthew was well again. Well enough to go home, well enough to learn to walk again, well enough to become her husband at last. Her smile widened tremulously.

She turned to Cora beside her. "Thank you so much, again, for all you've done for Matthew. Well, for both of us - you've been so kind to let me stay here too. It's helped him so much."

" _You've_ helped him so much," the Countess replied warmly. "Of course we've been happy to do what we can, and it's really been no trouble. But it's you that has cared for him, these last months, and I'm so pleased it's been rewarded for you both now he's recovering!" She gave Lavinia's arm a gentle squeeze.

"Well - so am I, I have to say!" She felt she could burst. "But I mean it, thank you for all you've done. And…" she hesitated, almost thinking better of it, before deciding there may not be another chance to say it in relative privacy: "Thank you for writing to me, too, to suggest I came back. When you said he needed me… I couldn't stay away, however much he'd thought I should. He's very stubborn!"

"Sometimes too stubborn for his own good, I think," Cora said with fondness, her lips parting to continue when Mary appeared through the front door.

"Oh good, you haven't gone yet! I'd been hoping to say goodbye. Where's Matthew?"

Her smile was flawless and her eyes bright, a practised and effective mask to the conflict she felt within. She hadn't meant to overhear, and was certain that they hadn't meant to be overheard… it was her _mother_ , Lavinia had only come back because _she'd_ suggested it? Why, why would she have done so, when Matthew had been managing perfectly well anyway and… she took a breath, fingers tightening around her bag, determinedly pushing the treacherous thought away. It didn't matter, why, it didn't matter how. Lavinia had come back, and Matthew was happy, of course he was - he loved her, after all - her heart lurched to recall the joy shining from his face when he'd announced their wedding, and now they were going back to Crawley House to live together (even if not _properly_ , yet, until after the wedding)… It all hurt too much to think of. In a way, she wondered if it wouldn't be easier, now, without their constant presence a reminder of their happiness and her own misery.

"I'm here," his voice and warm gaze arrested her as she, Lavinia and Cora turned to see Robert wheeling him through (and they all prayed it would be the last they'd really see of his wheelchair, now). "I'm glad we'd not gone yet, too; I'd have hated to leave without saying goodbye. Thank you, Lord Grantham," he smiled broadly as they came to a stop and accepted Robert's assistance to stand.

Why, Mary's heart clenched, did it always feel as though he spoke only to her, no matter how many people were in the room? She shook the thought away as he went to stand by his fiancée, took her arm to lean on, looked _happy_.

"Well, Matthew, we'll miss you. Both of you," Robert shook his hand warmly in parting. "But I don't suppose you're sorry to be going home at last."

"Not a bit; I'm looking forward to a bit of normality again, though I can hardly remember what that's like. But… I will miss you all, too."

"Well don't be a stranger!" Mary said brightly. "You'll still come for dinners and such, whenever you'd like."

"Of course, we'll -"

Cora interrupted softly with, "There's plenty of time for all that," and a gentle touch to Mary's elbow in admonition. "Just enjoy being well and being at home, together, that's all that matters for now. After all, you've a wedding to plan!"

Matthew blushed, and glanced at Lavinia who beamed beside him. "Yes… of course. Well, darling. Let's go home, shall we?"

Mary watched, the pain in her heart dulling slowly to numbness as, with further thanks and smiles and goodbyes, Matthew and Lavinia climbed into the car. The delight she still felt at his recovery warred with the soul-deep sadness she felt at the loss of him, until it all seemed too much to feel. Oh, she would miss him! She waved as they were driven away, her smile bravely fixed until the car was out of sight and she allowed it to fade with relief.

"That's it, then!" Robert exclaimed with a sigh as they returned indoors. "It'll seem quiet without them. I'll have to fend for myself after dinner again!"

"I think it's for the best though," Cora said quietly, not quite meeting his eyes but glancing to Mary instead. "Matthew was always so independent and he must be allowed to find that again."

Beside her, Mary simmered at her mother's proclamation, that she'd claim to understand what Matthew needed so well, it all seemed so… calculated, and… she realised with a jolt as she recalled the words she'd overheard earlier that perhaps it was. She riled with indignation.

"I'm sure he can manage that without our help, Mama," she said brusquely. "Anyway I'm going up to get changed."

"Alright, darling."

She escaped with relief up the stairs, to the comforting solace of her bedroom, grateful that Anna understood her unspoken need for peace without their usual chatter as she helped her change for the afternoon. While she hoped the maid would put her quietness down to merely being tired from their chase after Sybil and Branson the night before - that was a whole other matter to worry over! - she imagined that Anna knew her somewhat better than that. She shook her head, thinking over it again. Sybil was mad - utterly mad, she had to be - but something in Mary couldn't help but admire her sister's spirit. How she really didn't care what anyone else might think, or what the consequences might be… but it was all too late for that, and consequences _did_ matter. Of course they did, she thought bitterly. She knew it only too well.

For a little while she read, preferring to stay in her room for now than face being downstairs, where she'd only expect to see Matthew in every quiet corner and be reminded afresh of his absence. It wasn't a thrilling novel, in fact she found its cheery hopefulness more irritating than anything else, but it was still preferable to allowing her own more miserable thoughts to intrude. It wasn't long, however, before her peace was disturbed. Hoping it might be Sybil, she sat up eagerly, but put her book down with a sigh as her mother instead peered around the door.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"No, I suppose not." She straightened as Cora sat gently beside her. "What is it?"

She started gently, innocently to all appearance. "Did Sir Richard catch his train alright earlier? I hope it won't be too long before he's with us again?"

"It won't, I'm sure," Mary said drily. "And yes, I saw him off. It's a shame the time didn't suit to take the car with Matthew and Lavinia but I didn't mind the walk, and it wouldn't have been fair to send poor Edith out again."

Cora pursed her lips. "That's good, and it was good of Edith to take them too, but even so I hope Branson's better tomorrow. I know he can't help being unwell but it's such an inconvenience! Listen, darling… I know it's all been sudden and I hope you're not put out too much by the wedding being planned here at Downton. I'd hoped you'd be settled first -"

"Oh Mama, I honestly don't mind about that," Mary stiffened and shook her head. "There's really no hurry."

"But, Mary… You must -"

"Mama!" She stood up, pulling her hand from her mother's grasp. Suddenly it seemed sickeningly clear to her, and her voice hardened against the cruelness of Cora's concern. "Nothing has changed; I am still going to marry Sir Richard. I'm not going to rush into it, and I'm not going to encroach on Matthew's time of happiness. That is all. I know what I need to do, never fear about that. You don't need to worry about me changing my mind."

Her heart beat fast with indignation, only more so as her mother's cowed expression proved her suspicion.

"Well," Cora said softly, "I'm glad to hear it. You know I only want you to be alright, darling. That's all I want." She stood and, as Mary remained hardened and terse, gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

"I am," Mary said, her low voice trembling with the effort of convincing them both. "Everything's perfectly alright."

Only it wasn't, of course, and she was desperately grateful when her mother seemed to accept it and left her alone once more. How dare she have interfered so! But, then… Mary sank to the bed, fighting to hold back bitter tears that stung behind her eyes. 'Alright' wasn't 'happy', they both knew that, but it was obviously more important. The family was more important, Matthew's happiness was more important, and more so after all he'd been through.

She fiercely wiped at the few tears that fell. There was no point to them, after all. Matthew had gone home, he was regaining his health. He was happy. She accepted it, accepted that she wouldn't be, but at least she would be secure, and her story safe. Couldn't that be a happiness, of sorts? And if her mother _had_ interfered, summoned Lavinia back, encouraged Mary to focus on her own situation instead… well, wasn't it all better this way, in the end?

* * *

 _Home_.

From the vantage of his old armchair, Matthew took a deep breath and looked around him, again, as he had done many times already in the short time they'd been back at Crawley House. He could hardly believe it - this was it, now. He was at home. He was healthy (of sorts, getting there at least), the war was over, he didn't have to go back (never again, the relief shuddered through him)… this was it. There was a comforting familiarity and ordinariness about it all: the pale blue walls and settee, the frosty garden outside the tall windows, the little table with his mother's letters on, the newspaper in his hands. His fiancée, sitting just there across from him with her embroidery on her knee…

How terribly dull it all seemed.

He had every reason to be thrilled, he knew. He should be beside himself with happiness. And somehow that made it all worse.

In their last few days at the Abbey, he'd longed to escape it, for freedom from it, only more so since Violet's… discussion with him, the night before. He couldn't call it a revelation, for to do so would be to consider it true, and how could he possibly? For Mary to be in love with him… _Still_ in love with him, she'd said! It just didn't make sense, and the possibility was too much to bear, not while they lived under the same roof and she was _there_ right alongside Lavinia, it made his head spin… He'd felt as though he could hardly breathe, and had welcomed the return to Crawley House to give him some space to think. But now he was here, he felt only constricted, stifled by the future he could see stretching inexorably ahead of him. _Marriage is a long business… forty or fifty years_ … He swallowed thickly and stared at Lavinia.

She glanced up at him and smiled. "Dear, are you alright? You look like you're miles away."

"Oh, yes," he blinked and shook his head, as if to rid it of his difficult thoughts. "It feels rather strange to be back, that's all. It's been such a long time."

Lavinia slipped off the settee and perched by him, clasping his hand between hers and resting them lightly on his knee. Her smile was all encouragement and light, and it made his heart ache.

"It has! And you've been through so much. You couldn't possibly expect to feel everything's back to normal so soon. But I'm here, too, and I'll help you. Alright?"

"Alright." With a small, tight smile, he kissed her, and squeezed her hands. He knew her support should strengthen him, but instead he felt it like the heaviest weight on his shoulders, and that troubled him a great deal.

She pressed her lips swiftly to his, smiled, and went back to her embroidery on the settee. Matthew picked up his newspaper again, scanning the words but reading few. When his mother bustled in a few minutes later, he was grateful for her interruption to the prick of feelings he desperately wanted to ignore. He looked up expectantly.

"Is this yours? Molesly found it in your dressing room." She couldn't have known how Matthew's heart seemed to stop the moment he recognised the little toy dog in her hand. "It's not one of your old toys, is it? Because I don't recognise it."

He shifted uncomfortably, folding the newspaper on his lap to occupy his hands where they flexed with sudden tension at how casually she held it, itching to have it rightfully back in his own grasp.

"No, it was given to me… as a charm, I think. To take to the front." The calmness he forced to his voice seemed to ring in his ears. It had been so private to him, this little piece of Mary, the reminder of her friendship - _friendship_ , that was it - and he was desperately uncomfortable about it being out in the open in front of his mother and Lavinia. He didn't quite dare to think about why.

"Well," Isobel smiled, "you're home and safe now. Shall I put it in the barrel for the village children?"

"No -" His hand shot out to snatch it back before he was conscious of doing so. With it safe in his hands, he noticed how they both stared at him, and tried to smile and sound as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "You never know! It might be bad luck not to keep it."

That was perfectly reasonable, wasn't it? He slipped it into his pocket and smiled as Isobel mentioned that luncheon was ready, albeit rather late, and tried to still the shaking of his hands.

 **TBC**

* * *

 _Thanks so much for reading! It's good to be back!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'm truly overwhelmed by such a lovely welcome back! Thank you all so much for your kind comments on chapter one. I hope you're ready to dive into Matthew's head for this one... I love him and I've missed him but, boy, he's a very confused man._

 _Enjoy...!_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

He thought he might just have got away with it. Got away with _what_ , precisely, he couldn't quite put his finger on… and wasn't sure he wanted to. Why it seemed to feel so secret, something he felt an instinctive desire to hide, the truth he didn't want to admit to them… Did that mean it was something to feel ashamed of? Why would he feel that way, if it were perfectly innocent? Mary had given it to him in friendship, only that, but… oh, who was he trying to fool? Of course it was more than that. An uncomfortable knot began to form in his stomach as the thought needled him that, somehow, with Mary it was always more than that. He tried to resist the idea, stamp it back down to where he'd buried it all those years ago as he'd left on that summer's day to go to war, to stop it before it took root. He couldn't let it, not now.

He thought he'd got away with it, until Lavinia looked up when they'd settled later that evening to dinner, and said brightly,

"So, I hadn't thought you were superstitious… You'll have to tell me what else you think is good or bad luck before the wedding!"

At first he didn't realise what she meant, and blinked in confusion.

"What do you mean? I'm not superstitious, not really."

"Really?" Her eyebrow arched with mirth. "You certainly seemed to think it would be rotten bad luck to let that little dog charm go earlier. I'm not sure I've seen you so determined about anything!"

The mouthful of lamb he'd just swallowed seemed to stick in his throat.

"That was very different," he said at last, shakily, slowly. "I had it with me at the front, and it just sort of… came to stay in my pocket. It seemed a comfort, somehow, and… well, it came through a lot with me, and the last time when I was… wounded-"

"Oh Matthew," Isobel sighed alongside Lavinia's apology of,

"Darling I'm sorry, I only meant to tease. Of course it's important to you, and how lovely that you had it through everything and have it still now. I quite agree you should keep it!"

Matthew released the breath he barely realised he'd been holding, and tried to smile to assuage their solemn expressions.

"Thank you for understanding. It's silly of me, I'm sure."

Isobel shook her head. "No, not at all. Even if you don't believe in things like that, it's a lovely thought that someone wanted you to have it for luck. It must have been quite special to them."

"I agree," said Lavinia softly. "They must have cared for you a great deal to have given it to you, and that's so nice to think of. Who was it?"

Oh, she'd meant the question innocently, Matthew was sure… The fact only made the stab of guilt he felt all the sharper.

"Do you know, I - I'm not sure I can remember," he lied, feeling the colour drain from his face and knowing instantly that he shouldn't have done so. Every word with which he tried to pass it off as insignificant only proved the opposite.

"Well that seems very odd! Was it someone from home, or that you served with? You must remember receiving it?" She asked it so earnestly, leaning forwards a little, as though she really couldn't bear for him to have forgotten such a kind gesture, as though she wished perhaps she could thank them herself. Matthew felt sick.

 _Lie_ , he told himself, _just lie, it would be so easy_.

But his voice would not cooperate, and no matter how he tried the lie would not come.

"Maybe… now that I think of it, perhaps…" he stammered instead, and their expectant faces made his throat close up. Of course his awkward hesitation made no sense to them, it couldn't.

"Well?" Isobel pushed gently, curious.

His fingers tightened to a fist of tension on his knee. _For Gods sake, why does it matter?_ he barely withheld from snapping, before wilting with the realisation that every denial would only make it worse. When he did speak, his voice was small, so small that he could almost pretend it wouldn't be heard.

"Well, I think… actually, it - was Mary." He raised his eyes to Lavinia's and saw her lips part to a soft 'oh' before she smiled - did he imagine it to look tighter than usual? - and quickly continued. "In fact now that I remember, she gave it to me the same leave that you gave me your photograph to take back, darling. You know what a comfort that was for me to have, but it wasn't so easy to keep in my pocket…"

"No, I don't suppose it was! But I'm glad if it helped you as well."

With a small nod, Matthew's eyes lowered to stare at his plate, unable to face the knowing gaze he imagined of his mother, and Lavinia who so innocently seemed to believe in his love. To speak of the comfort he'd needed _out there_ brought it all flooding back, and a wave of memory overtook him as the gravy he swirled with his fork became mud and he saw smoke and showering dirt, heard the echo of men crying out and the dull, booming thuds he'd tried so hard to forget, muscles tightening against the latent shiver of his own fear and pain and the horrible nothingness that had followed and… had only so recently receded. Yes, he'd had Lavinia's photograph out there - his fiancée - and it was true that he'd often sought comfort looking at it. But had it ever given him that comfort, truly? Now that he let himself think about it… how many times had his hand in the same moment reached instinctively into his pocket, his courage raised more by its familiar feel in his fingers than by the sight of his fiancée? Whilst the photograph had stayed protected by the glass of the frame in the (relative) safety of the dugout, somehow distant, removed from it all, Mary's charm had been right there with him… Every time the whistle shrilled between his clenched teeth, every shot that had hissed past his ears, every broken body and debris-filled shellhole he'd stumbled across… it had suffered everything with him.

A shudder trembled through him, when Isobel's firm hand on his arm startled him back to the present.

"Sorry, I… forgot where I was for a minute," he mumbled, wide eyes blinking the memories away and refocusing on their faces, both etched with concern.

His mother squeezed his arm and smiled, just gently, trying to lighten the air that had thickened around them.

"You're exactly where you should be, dear Matthew. At home, with us, and everything's quite alright."

Matthew nodded stiffly, and tried to believe her.

* * *

When Molesley had cleared the last of their plates away, and Matthew had asked him to pass on thanks to Mrs Bird for the delicious meal (her cooking was one thing he'd truly missed), Isobel was the first to stand, followed by Lavinia who smoothed her hands down her dress and smiled.

"This feels rather odd after dining at the Abbey for months! But in a nice way."

"We'll get used to it," Matthew said gently, and touched his hand to hers where she'd laid it on his shoulder. "And don't worry, I'm not going to stand on ceremony. Considering I didn't even change for dinner, I'd rather join you than be proper about it and sup brandy alone in here."

He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts and memories for company, not just now. They frightened him; he was scared of sinking back into them, but they seemed to assault him from every side. While he'd longed to be at home once more, the fact that he was, now, seemed only to remind him of all that he'd been through since the last time he'd left. It must have been a year, perhaps more, he thought… and since then, he'd… become a different man. One who'd stared death in the eyes and fought back as he hardened to all that he'd seen and done, numbed so much to it that he barely recognised himself anymore. One who had no memory of leaving the battlefield, only waking up to face a life stripped of any future worth having. One who'd come to terms with that, over months of pain and despair, but then… by some miracle found himself whole again. One who'd been so overcome with the rush of possibility that he couldn't wait to celebrate it in marriage… only to be told that the woman who'd shattered his heart so long ago might still be in love with him after all, and that he might be making the biggest mistake of his life.

How could he come back to his life here as if it were anything like the same?

He took a gasping breath and gripped the back of his chair as he stood, grateful that Lavinia likely assumed it was only his back causing him trouble.

Once they'd settled again in the sitting room, he felt better for a while. Sporadic chatter bounced back and forth, though Matthew listened more than he contributed, content to let himself be distracted by it. It wasn't long, though, before the strain of the day caught up with him and tiredness seeped and set in. He blinked away the dry sting of it from his eyes, and stifled a yawn.

"Do you know, I'm done in," he said at last, rubbing a hand across his brow. "I'd better go up before I fall asleep where I sit."

"You better had!" Lavinia stood briskly as she saw him reach for the cane hooked behind his chair. "Let me, I'll-"

"No, I can do it." It snapped out more harshly than he'd intended. She was close enough at least that when he stood, admittedly stiffly, he only had to lean a little to squeeze her fingers and press a swift, apologetic kiss to her cheek. "Sorry. I want to try on my own, that's all. Thank you - goodnight darling, and to you, Mother."

He kissed his mother as well, who squeezed her arms around him and said again how terribly pleased she was to have him back at home. Her happiness softened the edges of unease that taunted him, and he smiled as they both bid him goodnight. He was so tired… that was all.

Walking the short distance to the stairs wasn't too much of a problem, Matthew was glad to find, with his stick to lean on and his hand braced against the wall. The stairs themselves, however, proved a greater challenge. He'd only had to manage a couple of steps here and there, so far, and a whole flight was quite a different matter. Jaw set, he gripped the banister rail and half pulled, half pushed himself up. By the time he'd reached halfway, he wondered if he should have accepted Lavinia's assistance after all… she only wanted to help, he knew, and it was so good of her… but he didn't _want_ to need her help! And his pride now wouldn't allow him to call back for it. He wasn't an invalid, for God's sake! Not anymore.

Though he was exhausted by the time he reached the top, and his muscles ached and protested, he felt almost giddy with exhilaration at the achievement. The feeling carried him the short distance further to his bedroom, pausing only to ring for Molesley on the way before he sank onto the bed and relished the sensation of his tired limbs that he could _feel_. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers closed familiarly around the little toy dog, still there where he'd tucked it safely away. He tugged it out, turned it fondly between his fingers, and without thinking raised it to his lips, eyes falling closed as he took a shuddering breath.

With Molesley's assistance (and he didn't mind the help, not now), Matthew was soon ready and settled into bed. It still felt so good to climb in himself - there were so many things he vowed he would never take for granted again. The darkness settled over him, broken only by the lamp at his bedside and a sliver of moonlight between the curtains, and the quiet of nighttime… faint sounds of movement downstairs, an owl outside the window, his own gentle breaths. Once more, a sense of strangeness stirred in his gut, to be in a place so familiar, and yet, feeling… so out of place in it. It wasn't how he'd expected to feel. And God, he was exhausted, too exhausted to process it all. He lay back, rubbed his hands across his face as he yawned, then glanced round the room, trying to take comfort from seeing his own things back where they belonged. He noticed his books, his wash-kit, his notepad and pen, his cane ( _blasted thing_ ), then his eyes fell to the little toy dog on his bedside cabinet.

He wondered if Mary knew he had it, still, or if she assumed it had been lost, left behind where he'd fallen on the battlefield. Would she want it back? Now it had served its purpose, and seen him through the war - that was why she had given it to him, after all… and then he remembered what Lavinia had said.

He swallowed, but his throat was dry. _They must have cared for you a great deal_ … and then, Violet's proclamation, _Mary is still in love with you_... but she couldn't be, surely! He'd been so glad they were such friends again, truly, but it couldn't be love. She hadn't loved him in the first place, he'd convinced himself of that by Christmas 1914. But…

That morning sprang to his memory, so fresh he could almost see her in front of him, standing on the platform through the smoke. He'd joked how she must have been up before the servants. Lady Mary, up before the servants, to walk by herself to the station, just to see him before he left again to war, just to give him the little toy dog that she'd had always, just wanting him to come home safely. She'd kissed his cold cheek, and wished him such good luck.

It was grubby, now, and worn. Not quite without a scratch. And he'd not come back without one, either. He lay in bed, hands tightening on the sheets in tension as he remembered, body trembling. When he'd woken up in the hospital, so dazed and numb and hardly able to open his eyes against the harsh, bright lights… Mary had been there. Mary had been there, and told him what was wrong when he asked. Mary had stayed by his side, so often, even after Lavinia had gone... Mary had stayed, though she knew what a pitiable state he was in, she'd stayed and not flinched when he was sick, rubbed his back, and wiped his mouth afterwards, cleaning it up. And even while he convalesced at Downton, she'd kept him company for hours, and pushed his wheelchair, and read with him, and laughed at his terrible jokes, and rebuffed with respect his self-pity and shame. She'd fought for him, when the bandaged 'P. Gordon' had threatened to cost him all he had left, though there was nothing she could have hoped to gain herself. She'd smiled so wide he thought her face might split apart when she'd seen him standing again… and had smiled and wished them well, when he'd told them all how marvellous Lavinia had been.

Tears slipped from his squeezed shut eyes, as he drew a ragged breath.

 _Mary is still in love with you._

 _Oh, God._

 **TBC**

* * *

 _A/N:_ _Thanks so much for reading. :) I hope you enjoyed it! I'm hoping next time that Mary and Matthew will manage an actual conversation..._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Huge thanks once more for your lovely comments! I'm so enjoying exploring this time and scenario. On to Chapter 3..._

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

A weary sort of determination fell over Matthew, as the days pressed relentlessly on. So, Mary loved him. Well, so what if she did? The realisation, when he'd finally made it, had felt like a bomb exploding out of his chest. He felt in a single moment so completely full, and yet so utterly empty, and then as though he were floating, about to plummet. He could barely comprehend the fact, didn't want to, because _if she did…_

Well, what?

It didn't change anything, and so he shut down the questions and the ifs and the whens and the whys that sprang behind his eyes, he buried them along with any contemplation of what he might feel himself, because he _couldn't_ , because if he did…

He refused to let himself finish the thought.

Nothing had changed; every word he'd said to Violet had been, and remained, true.

He had to marry Lavinia. They'd promised themselves to each other three years ago - what a distant dream that day seemed, now - and he couldn't have let her give up three years of her life, nor promise to give up the rest of her life and future to care for him, a cripple ( _impotent, stinking of sick_ ), and then turn her away now that he was better and didn't want her anymore.

The suddenness and sharpness of the thought made him gasp.

 _You don't want her anymore._

Then,

 _God, what an ungrateful bastard you are._

She'd been nothing but good to him, so good to him, and he couldn't bear the shame of how cruel it would be to reject her now. He watched her carefully over breakfast one morning, puzzling over what could have happened to his love, because he did love her, or had done, he was sure of it. He'd been so sure. How could he have been so wrong?

He watched her lift her teacup to her lips, eyes sparkling as she smiled at something his mother had said. She was so pretty; he'd noticed so the moment he'd laid eyes on her. She was so kind, and sweet, and loving, and had made him smile so much, and begun to break the hardened shell his heart had become.

" _It's been lovely to see your father again," he'd said to her, that final evening of leave before he went back to the front. He'd felt giddy with having enjoyed himself, for once, away from Downton and the bitter memories it held. He didn't want to let the feeling go, and the giddy impossibility of it, whilst knowing what he had to return to, made him battle past his shyness. "And lovely to meet you, too - he'd mentioned before how lovely you are but I'm afraid he didn't do you justice."_

 _She'd blushed, and it had made him smile._

 _"That's very kind of you to say, Matthew. And I've very much enjoyed getting to know you! I'm so glad I stumbled in on your catching up, however embarrassing it was." She had, literally, stumbled through the door and made them all laugh frightfully._

 _"I'm glad too. I've had such a happy time - truly. For a little while I've been able to forget about it all… Thank you."_

 _She gave a small nod, and was so pretty and pleasant that he couldn't bear to let it end, and before he could stop himself he'd taken her hand and said, "Look, could I… do you think I could write to you? While I'm out there. Please_?"

 _It was silly, he knew, but he'd been so jealous of men writing to their sweethearts. For months, at first, every letter he saw clutched lovingly and stuffed into pockets for safekeeping had seemed to taunt him with his failure. If Mary had only said yes… but she hadn't… but she'd been sure!… but she couldn't have been… don't be stupid. It's too late for that now, it was obviously just your prospects after all, what an idiot you were to imagine it was anything more, but she… god, stop it. So, he'd written to his mother after all, and they didn't mention her very often, and he told himself and told himself it had all been in his head until eventually it was impossible to believe he'd ever imagined anything else._

 _How fiercely he had loved her and, oh God, how much it had hurt_.

 _Then Lavinia had smiled at him, with her strawberry blonde hair and bright eyes that were absolutely honest, and she squeezed his fingers back and said…_

 _"Yes! Oh yes, please do. I'd like that very much_."

Matthew blinked back to the present, running a finger along the top of his glass. She'd said yes. That was the difference. She'd said yes, and her letters made him happy, and he enjoyed having someone to write back to that wasn't his mother. Someone to come back to, who really cared whether or not he would come back (because Mary hadn't, she couldn't have, could she? How wrong he'd been!), and he liked the feeling. And then the fighting had been so awful, days and weeks of a living, waking nightmare, in which death had surrounded him every way he looked (not just on the battlefield, even the trench had bits of bodies sticking out of it that stank and rotted and haunted him), and the fear of not knowing if each step, each second, would be his last, and the worst thing was that it all became so horrifyingly normal. Suddenly, letters hadn't been enough (how could they be, when there simply weren't the words for what they had endured?), and he wanted to marry her, or at least have the idea of marrying her to look forward to because, in all honesty, he hadn't believed (or even dared to hope, not then) that he'd make it to the end.

The next time he was in England, the very day he arrived, he'd asked her. And, again… _she'd said yes._

 _Her certainty overwhelmed him. Yes, she wanted to marry him, yes, she loved him! He could see it shining in her eyes and his heart swelled. Breathlessly he pulled her to him, tightly into his arms, and kissed her, kissed her pretty, lovely smile, and grinned against her lips as she kissed him shyly back. Perhaps it wasn't passionate, but it was exhilarated, and happy, and hopeful, and it was everything he needed._

Now, their breakfast finished and his mother off on her noble errand to the refugees, he walked with Lavinia into the sitting room. She held his arm, hand gripping his tightly to support him. He wished she wouldn't, but she was so keen to offer it (and his muscles too strained to protest his independence) that he didn't have the heart to refuse it again.

She was still so certain, and had been, even when it seemed they had no hope of a proper future together… once she'd come back, at least. But she did come back, that was the thing! She'd said yes… and he had loved her. Truly, he thought he had. Now, though… the thought ran cruelly through his head again, piercing him as she smiled and rubbed his arm, helping him to sit before she pottered around the room, straightening this, adjusting that. _You don't want her anymore. But why not?_

Deep within himself, he felt the answer lurk where he'd buried it, felt it now straining to rise to his conscious thought.

It wouldn't change anything, anyway. He couldn't let it. And so he fought it back down with renewed determination.

"What are you going to do today?" he asked, forcing a lightheartedness to his voice that he really didn't feel.

Lavinia turned from where she stood by the window with a smile.

"Lady Grantham has invited me to start making plans for the wedding. I really don't want it to be a very grand affair. I don't see why it has to be, just because we have it at Downton! Don't you agree?"

"Very much so, but good luck trying to convince Cousin Cora of it…"

A little frown creased between her brows. "But they won't want too much fuss there, surely, if Mary's getting married not long afterwards? I know they haven't set a date yet…"

"No." Matthew's eyes fell back to the newspaper in his lap, lips pursed with sudden disquiet. The silence hung for a moment, waiting to be broken, an unfinished thought hovering at the edge of it. At last he seemed to notice it and glanced up again, to see her gaze fixed pensively out of the window. Quietly he said, "My dear, are you certain you wouldn't rather we married in London after all? You've given up so much for my sake already-"

"Oh, no!" Her smile was bright again. "We've been through such a lot together here. I don't have as much family as you do, Matthew, and they care for you so much - it just feels right to be here."

"Well, alright," he said gently. "If you're sure." It had seemed like such a good idea, at the time… but now it felt too much, and he wanted to escape it again, particularly after the reminder of Mary's own wedding to come.

Lavinia nodded, and reached out for his hand as she walked to the door.

"I am. I'll see you later - don't be a hero; ask Molesley if you need anything at all, and Isobel will be back before lunch - and are you seeing Doctor Clarkson later, still?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then you must be honest with him, about how you're managing - particularly the stairs, I know you say it's alright and want to do it alone, but you'll only slow down your recovery if you push yourself too hard. Don't pretend it's better than it is-"

"Thank you," he interrupted, and apologetically lifted her hand to his lips before letting go. However he tried to soften his voice, it still came out as a petulant mutter. "I know how to look after myself."

Later that afternoon, he was dutifully honest with Doctor Clarkson - yes, it still hurt and his legs felt funny at times, no, he wasn't pushing himself too hard (he gave a bitter little laugh at the thought that he mustn't run before he could walk), well not for the most part anyway, yes, of course he'd still use the wheelchair for any distance at all, no, he wasn't forgetting all his stretches and exercises and Molesley was proving quite able to help him. Yes, he'd mention of course if anything changed.

Clarkson seemed pleased with his progress and gave Matthew's shoulder a hearty squeeze on his way out. It wasn't necessary to stand and see him out, he insisted. Matthew nodded, and stayed put.

"Thank you, Molesley," he said when the doctor had left. "I know it's been a big adjustment to have me back here, with… all the assistance I need. I do appreciate it, truly." His eyes shone with genuine gratitude, though a part of him was still ashamed at all the help he needed (though mercifully so much less than he had done only weeks ago, but Bates had been a wonder at that), and more ashamed that he felt like that at all, instead of purely grateful at how damned lucky he was.

Molesley ducked his head, retrieving the tea tray. "Not at all, Mr Crawley. I like to be busy, you know - I don't mind that at all. Will you be needing anything else for now?"

"No, thank you. I'll ring if I do."

"Very good, Sir."

Once the butler had left, Matthew sat and tapped his fingers restlessly along the arm of his chair. Frustration and boredom niggled at him, beginning to set in. His mother had come back before lunch, as planned, but gone out again pretty soon afterwards - Matthew had insisted she didn't stay in on his account, there was no point in that. But now he had very little to do. He could read - well, he'd been reading all day, and all the days before, and for the first time in his life he was bored of it. He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, and walked stiffly to the window with his stick. Bracing one palm on the cold glass, he looked wistfully out, his breath clouding and fading. He could go into the garden, but it was frightfully cold, and what more could he do once he was there? In the past he'd have gone for a walk, or further afield on his bicycle, or before the war he'd had work to do and during it his leave had been so precious and brief there was far too much else to occupy him.

He couldn't stand for long, and made his careful way back to his armchair, picking up a different book on the way. At that minute, it felt like it might as well have been his wheelchair after all. He frowned miserably, feeling the pinch behind his eyes as his fingers curled unconsciously into a fist on the armrest. It was only now that he realised just what a blessing staying at the big house had been - there was always a distraction, a change of scenery at least just by wheeling into another room, always someone different to talk to - he already felt that he and Lavinia were close to exhausting most topics of mutual interest, besides the wedding (which he didn't particularly enjoy talking about in any case), now that they had days and days to do so with little to set them apart.

With sudden resolve, he stretched to reach the bell and rang for Molesley. He'd need a bit of help, that was all, but he didn't have to sit here doing nothing all day. It wasn't impossible.

* * *

As the road ran familiarly through the trees, cresting the rise that brought the Abbey's tower into sight through the mist, Matthew felt his heart grow lighter. He couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. It really did feel like home, he reflected… however much he wished that it would not have to for many years, yet. He hissed and gripped the seat as the car bounced a little - "Sorry Mr Crawley, couldn't avoid that one!" called Branson from the front - a stab of pain shooting up his spine despite the cushions strategically wedged around him. The car slowed a little, trying to smooth the ride, and Matthew gave a low chuckle as they pulled up almost as close as physically possible to the door of the Abbey at last.

"Thank you, Branson. You're a good man." Their eyes met in the mirror and a warm smile passed between them as the chauffeur simply gave a nod.

"Happy to help, Sir."

Matthew waved off the offer of assistance to climb out of the car, thanking Branson again before making his way to the front door and ringing the bell. He was grateful when the door opened almost immediately, reckoning Carson must have been ready nearby - he'd had the notion of surprising Lavinia, but supposed it best practically if the staff at least knew he'd be arriving.

"Welcome back, Mr Crawley," Carson greeted him, with just the arch of an eyebrow. "I believe Miss Swire is still with Lady Grantham, touring the rose garden at the minute."

"Right." Matthew glanced back over his shoulder, casting his eyes over the uneven gravel path that led off to the grounds. He could manage it in the wheelchair, if someone could push him over the rough, but… "I might be best waiting inside, actually, if that's alright?"

It was, and Matthew insisted he could make his own way to the Library as directed perfectly well. He did so, slowly and carefully, grateful that Carson had suggested the closest room to get to as he noticed afresh just how vast the great hall was.

He'd settled himself in a chair by the tall windows, picking up a book on his way but letting it fall into his lap as he stared outside at the mist hanging low amongst the trees, feeling the comfort of bookshelves and leather and the crackling fire settle over him.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the room, and he turned his head to see… Mary, her own head bowed and fingertip tracing the spine of the book she carried, before she turned to the shelves to return it to its place.

He couldn't help but stare while she hadn't yet noticed his presence. His skin felt hot and prickled at the back of his neck, _Mary is still in love with you_ , this vision of a woman who was all softness and sharpness and who took his breath away. _Still_. His eyes raked over her, the tendril of dark hair that clung to her pale neck, the curve of her jaw, her slender fingers that ghosted along the titles she browsed, and the sway of her hips as she shifted.

He hadn't let himself look at her like this for so many years, had buried the desire so thoroughly that he had truly believed it was gone. He'd thought he was safe, that they'd moved on from that foolish attraction to better prospects and promises, that they were just such good friends after all… but now it burst within him like a wave, leaving him breathless. God, what an idiot he'd been, for so long. Of course he loved her, with the very fibre of his being, perhaps that was why he'd imagined himself to have forgotten it - to love Mary was a part of his very self.

His breath caught in his throat, making him cough, and he blushed as she spun round to see him with wide eyes that creased with happiness only seconds later.

"Matthew! Heavens, what are you doing there? And why didn't you say something?"

An apologetic smile tugged at his lips. "You looked so intent on your mission, I thought I'd let you finish, first. I came… because Lavinia's here. I thought I'd surprise her, but… the truth is, I was bored out of my skin at home and fancied coming here instead."

"Bored already? Oh dear."

"I know." Matthew felt breathless, and was glad of her chuckle to diffuse the thickness of the air between them. She sat down by him, and they were silent for a moment. It felt wonderfully familiar, after all the hours they'd sat together just here, just like this (though with his wheelchair, instead), whiling away the hours of his convalescence. "Actually, I was hoping to bump into you while I was here," he murmured eventually, saying it more to his hands in his lap than to her.

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched expectantly.

Still not quite meeting her eyes, Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out her charm, turning it almost reverently between his fingers. He heard her little intake of breath, and smiled.

"I realised… that perhaps you hadn't known that I've still got him. I couldn't bear you to think that he'd been left behind or forgotten, when I…" the difficult words trailed off and he licked his lips.

"It's alright, I didn't."

"What?" His eyes flicked up to hers. She seemed to shift with sudden nervousness, and pressed her lips together.

"He was folded in with your uniform. When you arrived at the hospital… Sybil picked it all up, and out he fell!"

Matthew nodded, brows pinching together as he fought away the encroaching shadow of remembering that time. His chest felt tight and his spine ached.

"She told you?"

"No… I was there too."

"Oh."

He didn't ask her why. He didn't have to. Somehow it seemed to be the most breathtakingly intimate thing, to know that she'd been by his side even then, when he was so vulnerable and broken… There was no pity in her eyes, for the state she must have seen him in, though his cheeks flamed with shame at the thought of it. His lips parted, and shut, unable to summon the words, and he swallowed back the threat of tears as he turned to stare out of the window.

"So you see," she said carefully, her velvet voice drawing him back, "I knew he hadn't been left behind. I supposed you must have had him in your pocket."

"I did. Every time. I'm only sorry he came back a bit the worse for wear… rather like me, actually." He gave a wry chuckle, which died on his lips at the clasp of her hand over his.

"Worse for wear, perhaps. But back in one piece, which is the most important thing. Just like you." Her smile was breathtaking, beautiful and sincere, and Matthew was lost in it, until she released his hand and sat back with mock severity. "Now, I hope you weren't thinking of giving him back to me. You've still a long recovery ahead of you, and I know it won't be easy. Besides that, you're getting married! Goodness knows that needs a lot of luck, I'm sure."

There was nothing but kindness and warmth in her smile, that he could see at least, and he felt his own tremble.

"Well, so are you…" He'd meant it playfully at first, it came so naturally between them to tease, but as the words hung between them the air seemed to chill. He watched her stiffen almost imperceptibly, a practised air coming over her smile that he recognised but hadn't consciously noticed for a long time. But it was only a moment, barely there at all, before she softened once more.

"Quite right! But not yet, so don't let's think about that." She clasped her hands together in her lap, and nodded at the little dog still in Matthew's grasp. "Please keep him, though, I mean it. I'd like you to."

"Well…. alright. I must admit I've become rather attached to him after all… Thank you."

"Good!"

Despite their smiles, Matthew felt a tension between them that crackled like the fire in the grate, an ache somehow deeper than the dull pain of his back he'd become used to by now. Oh, he saw now that she loved him, and God how he realised at last that he loved her too… But she was still getting married to somebody else. And so was he.

They heard the click of the door from the end of the room, and Mary twisted in her seat. "I hope that's Carson bringing some - oh! Mama, Lavinia. Did you manage to see the roses, and make some plans?"

Matthew rose stiffly, noticing Lavinia's cheeks flush from the cold as he felt his own redden at the feeling of being 'caught', though it was perfectly natural for him to sit and talk with Mary, he'd done so hundreds of times before…

"Hello!" he said brightly. "I thought I'd surprise you by coming too - it was no trouble, don't worry. Only when I got here and you were out walking, I thought I'd be better off waiting inside."

Cora's eyes flashed between them above her smile. "It certainly is a surprise! Mary, won't you go find your father and let him know Matthew's here too? I know Carson is on his way with some tea."

"Yes, Mama."

Matthew saw her sigh in the curve of her shoulders, eyes following her out of the room, before he turned back to Lavinia and the Countess with a smile. His fiancée took his arm, her gloved hands cold through the wool of his suit.

"It's a lovely surprise, but you must sit down again! Now, we've had lots of ideas - see what you think…"

He dutifully sat, and listened, and gave his opinion where asked… letting his hand rest in hers as he half hoped, half dreaded, that Mary would come back and join them again soon.

 **TBC**

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading! As much as I love exploring this, I'm aware of how potentially frustrating it can be, too... I fully believe that Matthew did love Lavinia, in some way that he needed to through the war, which is what I'd wanted to explore here. But of course, we know where his heart fully lies. I know he's maddeningly stubborn, and his determination to marry Lavinia seems so misguided - but I guess that's what I'm wanting to work through! They'll get there in the end, I promise._

 _:) Thanks again for reading - I'd love to know what you thought!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thank you so much once more for your wonderful feedback! As we go into chapter 4, this one took me in some directions I didn't expect... It surprised me, but this is how my muse apparently wanted it to go. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

They'd declined the offer of dinner at the Abbey, returning instead to Crawley House to dine with Isobel. It was always a calmer affair, quieter, with less fuss over dress or protocol, and they both preferred that.

They chatted about the day, Matthew deflecting their concern that he'd ventured out with so little assistance, and discussing tentative plans for the wedding. Matthew seemed very noncommittal about it all, but Isobel reflected with a smile that most men were generally quite content to let these things be planned around them, so long as they knew where to show up and when. The marriage was far more to look forward to than the wedding itself, after all.

Matthew went up early to bed, as he had done most nights since their return. It wasn't hard to see how tired he was, how strained, and Isobel's heart went out to her boy. Perhaps she should have stayed in this afternoon, to spend some proper time with him alone, as they hadn't had much chance to yet… but she knew he would only see it as pity, which he really couldn't bear, no matter how wrong he may be.

She glanced at Lavinia, whose eyes were still fixed on the door which Matthew had shut behind him only moments ago, a gentle frown pinching her brow and her drink forgotten, cradled in her lap. Isobel was very fond of her, very fond indeed - she was such a sweet girl.

"He's just tired himself out today, that's all," Isobel said softly, drawing Lavinia's attention. "I know you worry about him, as do I, but we must at least try not to. He's stubborn, but not entirely stupid - I don't think he'll allow himself any setbacks, not now he's improving so much."

"Oh I know, it isn't… I mean, I do worry, but it isn't that."

"Oh?"

With a little sigh, Lavinia set down her glass on the table beside her and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. It was a moment before she could seem to find the words.

"Just sometimes, I wonder… Matthew… and Mary are quite fond of each other, aren't they?"

Isobel blinked in surprise. "I suppose they are, yes, but he gets on frightfully well with all the family. Well, some more than others I suppose. What makes you say so?"

"Nothing particularly," she replied hurriedly. "Only - oh dear, I must sound terribly silly - I know he's so amiable and talks pleasantly with everyone, but just sometimes when he's talking with Mary I feel almost like I'm intruding. Isn't that silly?" She shrugged, and looked almost helplessly at Isobel.

Isobel didn't know what to say, and tried to look reassuring while she thought. It wasn't silly, not really. But while she'd always suspected that Mary harboured deeper feelings for her son, that seemed unchanged despite her engagement to Sir Richard, she'd thought Matthew to be long past any such romantic feelings and was pleased to see their friendship redevelop. He'd seemed so enthusiastic about Lavinia, and had wanted to marry her so desperately! It was obvious that Matthew and Mary were close, and perhaps they always would be. But not in any way that should cause Lavinia to worry.

"I don't believe there's any reason you should feel like that," she said at last, with a reassuring smile. "But I know we can't always help what we feel, so I won't say it's silly."

Lavinia shook her head. "I'm quite sure it is, and it's not that I'm worried, you see. I just get the feeling… that I'm in the dark, somehow. I don't know. When we got engaged, and Matthew told me more properly about you all, he spoke so highly of Mary. He mentioned they'd been on the edge of something, perhaps, a long time ago. Almost the chance of something, he'd said - he'd thought I should know - but that was it, and it was all very much in the past. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now I wonder if there was more to it than he'd said. Do you know?"

"You should ask Matthew, my dear, and not me." Isobel said with kindness, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

"Oh dear, I was hoping you'd simply say no," Lavinia said, and just for a moment her lip seemed to wobble. "I don't think I can ask Matthew. You saw how defensive he was over that silly toy dog! I can't blame him for being irritable, he's dealing with so much at the moment. But he'd say I was being ridiculous and then sulk about it for goodness knows how long."

Isobel couldn't help but laugh.

"You're probably right. He does sulk dreadfully at times."

The younger woman smiled. "So you see why I'd rather ask you! I don't want to argue with Matthew about it, or cause a fuss - it isn't that I'm jealous, or anything like that. I'd rather just know so I can put it behind me."

"I can understand that. But it really isn't my place to say."

"Please, Isobel," Lavinia twisted her hands in her lap. "Your silence is making me imagine all sorts, and I'd much rather know the truth so I know where things stand."

Isobel pressed her lips together and smoothed down the skirts of her dress, trying to find the best way to put it. It wasn't her story to tell, and if Matthew had chosen not to… but, Lavinia was right, sometimes it was better to know than to imagine much worse, and there really wasn't much to tell after all, she supposed. Not when it was all so far in the past.

"I suppose to say they'd been on the edge of something isn't so far from the truth," she said carefully. "Matthew proposed to her, once. Quite a while before the war began."

"Oh." She looked almost wounded, but only for the briefest moment before recovering. "So Mary turned him down?"

Isobel sighed, her heart heavy. "Well, no. Not exactly. She didn't give him an answer at all… for two or three months, she put it off, until Matthew felt he couldn't accept it even if she did say yes. It broke his heart." She felt her voice catch and tears sting behind her eyes, though she tried not to let Lavinia see. It had broken Matthew's heart, and hers had broken for him.

"Oh… that must have been horrible. Did anyone know why?"

"Not, really, no…" They'd had their suspicions, of course, and it had seemed such a dreadful shame, especially when their regard for each other had seemed so great… and Mary's had seemed only to grow stronger as the years had gone on, even despite her own engagement. Isobel remembered again the shock of the sight of her in the hospital, an apron round her waist as she so calmly cleaned up his sick without a flinch and shrugged it off as nothing… and Matthew had been oblivious, of course he had. She knew how pleased he'd been to regain their friendship, that he'd only felt was possible after Lavinia had helped him to be happy once more.

She looked at the young woman with fondness, and smiled to ease the anxiety still creasing her delicate brow. "It's all very much in the past, anyway," she said firmly. "He may have felt his heart broken, but then you came along and helped him to mend it. I know it hasn't been an easy journey, certainly not, but it's not long now until you'll be married and all of it will be behind you with so much to look forward to instead."

It took a moment, but Lavinia's expression at last released the tension it had harboured, and she settled more comfortably in her seat. "I'll try to remember that! Thank you, for being so kind."

The moment had passed, but it played on Isobel's mind, lingering after Lavinia had given in to tiredness and retired up to bed. Somewhere within herself she felt sad, for the chance that Matthew had lost, when Mary so clearly seemed to have regretted it since. But he was happy with Lavinia, he was just feeling the strain of so much at the moment. He had to be happy or he wouldn't be marrying her! For a brief time, it had seemed that things might take another path, when he'd released her back to London… Isobel had noticed his attachment to Mary deepen over those weeks, but there'd been no chance or idea of anything beyond friendship in it, for how could there possibly be? And then Lavinia had come back anyway with such determination to look after him, and that momentous day of his recovery (truly a miracle, it seemed) had come and he'd been so thrilled that they could be married after all. Isobel couldn't help but be thrilled for him, and still was, for him and the lovely young woman who'd healed his heart. Oh, the depth of his heartbreak before the war had proven how deeply he'd loved Mary… and if she was honest, Isobel could see what Lavinia had meant, that there remained an undeniable, indefinable connection between them. But they were such good friends, now, that was all; she was sure of it and glad of it. The idea of anything more was surely consigned to the past.

* * *

Matthew felt torn apart. It was as though there were two of him inside himself, his head and his heart, at war. One self was ruled by duty and honour, who felt himself bound to marry Lavinia because he _should_ , because it was absolutely the _right thing to do._ The life he saw ahead with her felt like the life he might always have had - should have had, by all rights - if he had never come to Downton. As a younger man, he'd always imagined himself marrying someone like Lavinia. Someone lovely, and kind, and pretty, and her father was a solicitor like him and she was from the city, like him, and it all seemed very right and proper. He felt in control of it, and that was how he preferred things to be… but, good Lord, it felt dull. The other self, now that he acknowledged it… was helplessly in love with Mary. Whatever future he might have imagined (once, and now tried once more to cling to), he _had_ come to Downton, and his world had changed forever, from the moment she'd walked into his life with her ice-like beauty that left him slack-jawed and speechless. Oh, how he loved her, her wit and sharpness and passion. Her haughty facade had taunted him and he was desperate to know the woman beneath it, really know her, and every inch that she let him in only made him crave more. She challenged him, inspired him, believed him - all that had remained true while he'd believed their feelings to be friendship alone, and now he couldn't comprehend how he had been so blind to the love that was written so indelibly into his heart.

But that love could not be, he reasoned with himself. She was going to marry Sir Richard… He didn't know why, it didn't make sense, if she loved him as Violet had said, but he was hardly in a position to judge her for that! She was engaged, and that was the end of it, because so was he. No matter how he felt, he couldn't repay Lavinia's willingness to dedicate a life without fulfilment to him with the humiliation of throwing her over now. He couldn't be so cruel, not to a girl who'd been prepared to give up everything, a girl who hadn't an unkind bone in her body.

Besides, he had loved her - when his world was full of darkness, she had been his light. Violet had asked if he couldn't love Mary again, if he'd loved her once… Well, couldn't he love Lavinia again? She was like almost like an angel, surely it couldn't be hard to love her, if he tried?

As soon as he thought it, he laughed bitterly at the idea. You couldn't love someone by trying to. In fact, he suspected rather the opposite was true; to love someone was something quite beyond control, beyond all rhyme or reason… his love for Mary testified to that.

Even so, he tried. He talked with her, teased her, kissed her when they were alone… but it was an act, and it felt like it, and he prayed she couldn't tell. He'd hold her waist and kiss her, felt her lips so soft and innocent and trembling, and it was perfectly _nice_ he supposed. Very nice, and she tasted sweet on the tip of his tongue, which seemed to shock her when he tentatively tried it. In the back of his mind, he observed how it had been a conscious choice to do so, he'd made the effort to deepen the kiss, it hadn't come instinctively or naturally or desperately out of sheer need, not like… Oh, God, not like kissing Mary. The memory was so sharp and sudden, like a thunderbolt through him, that he drew back from Lavinia in shock. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks flushed, though not with the shame that coloured his own.

Once he'd remembered it, the thought wouldn't leave him alone. He tried to think of Lavinia, he tried to want her, but neither his mind or body would cooperate. In the darkness of night as he lay and tried to sleep, she was there behind his eyes, _Mary_ , he could feel her mouth open and hot against his and her hands in his hair… the memory felt so fresh and so sharp, he couldn't help the surge of arousal that overtook him so strongly it was almost unbearable. He trembled, fingers flexing as he ached to sate it but fought the urge, knowing that he couldn't bear the shame if he did. It was torturous, a kind of agony, and he could only feel that he deserved it for being so cruel.

When Lavinia decided a week or so later to go to London for a few days, he was relieved.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked sweetly.

"No, no of course I don't mind! Mother and I will be perfectly fine. Please, enjoy yourself and stay as long as you like." His smile was wide, and he tried not to sound too enthusiastic. He knew she meant well, to always be sure he was looked after first, but it was somehow exhausting and he found the concern overbearing.

"Thank you - well, I won't be too long. I'll be so glad to see Daddy, and there's a shop I'd always wanted to arrange my wedding dress from, so it will be a useful trip at least. I just wish you could come with me, too."

"Nonsense," Matthew said, "you should make the most of seeing your friends without having to worry about carting me around as well. I might try and venture to the old law office to see if they've any use for me - or might have, in a while or so when I'm up to working again."

"Oh, good! I'm sure they will."

So it was settled, and when it was all arranged Matthew waved her off with the thought that he would miss her, really, and might write to her or telephone. It would be strangely like during the war again, when absence had lent more depth to their feelings, or so he found himself hoping. In any case, the space was useful to clear his head.

His mother suggested dining at the Abbey, if he felt it became too quiet.

"No," he said quickly, "I'd rather not. I'm quite pleased to spend some time just you and I, you know."

"Me too," Isobel grinned at him, and though his own smile was weak it hadn't been a lie. It would be wonderful to spend time properly with his mother, just like they'd used to be… but really he couldn't bear the thought of facing Mary, not just now, not without Lavinia there to keep him safe from feelings so far beyond his control.

It was ridiculous, he thought ruefully. He felt stifled either way. He couldn't face Mary without Lavinia, but he equally couldn't with her there, he knew - it felt so damned uncomfortable, and he couldn't trust himself to act as he should, to direct his affection to where it should be.

No, he'd use Lavinia's absence to set his head and his heart straight again, and gather the strength to welcome her back and love her and marry her… because Mary was getting married anyway, so what else could he do? Somehow, he was sure, it would all work out. It had to.

 **TBC**

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for reading! Firstly, I had intended the first scene to be from Lavinia's point of view, but when I started writing out came Isobel instead. I'll get in Lavinia's head in due course, I promise. Secondly, I was very surprised at how oblivious Isobel is to Matthew's true feelings. (I know, I'm the author here, right?! Allegedly... on which note, please go see The Man Who Invented Christmas! Dan Stevens is just wonderful, and it's a great little film). Anyway - Isobel. She adores Matthew. I feel like, if he'd convinced himself so thoroughly, his mother would probably buy it too. Plus, I fully believe that if she had an inkling that he loved Mary and didn't really want to marry Lavinia, there's no way she would sit by and let him make a mistake - and in 2x08 she's clearly behind their marriage, so she must believe in it? It was interesting to realise that, for me._

 _Thank you, and I'd love to know what you thought!_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Hello! Here we are again... Thank you so much for your comments on Chapter 4; I wasn't sure how well it would be received but felt it important to be there. I hope this chapter will make up for it... I've been looking forward to it for ages! Thanks to Mr Fellowes for the chunk of lines I've borrowed and played with, and thanks also to Mr Stevens and his voice... Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

Sitting in the car with the wretched package on her lap, Mary felt sure her mother had done it on purpose. Of course she had. There was no reason why she shouldn't have taken it herself, or just waited until Lavinia happened to be at the Abbey anyway; they hadn't been to dinner in a while, that was true, but they likely would before too long. Cora's smile had been all sugar and spice that Mary found impossible to argue with, not when the suggestion was so reasonable after all.

"Thank you Branson," she said as they at last pulled up to Crawley House, and accepted his hand to help her down. He gave a stiff nod, almost a bow, and she felt the cold formality of it - almost mocking, it seemed - that he always had about him, now. He probably hadn't forgiven her, for chasing him and Sybil down that night, but Mary really didn't care about that now.

Her gloved fingers pulled the bell, and she smiled politely when Molesley appeared.

"Hello, I've come to see Miss Swire if she's in this afternoon?"

"I'm afraid she's not, milady… Miss Swire is in London until Friday."

"Oh, well never mind." Her sigh clouded into the cold air, wishing she'd have thought to telephone ahead so she might have saved herself the bother of coming out, when Molesley carried quickly on.

"Mr Crawley is in, however, if you'd like me to let him know that you're here?"

A shiver ran down her back, though she brushed it off as the cold.

"I won't disturb him, no-"

"Mary?"

His eyes found hers over Molesley's shoulder, and she barely noticed the timid butler excuse himself as Matthew came to the door. She took in the stick, his slightly laboured breath, the grip of his fingers on the doorframe. Her lips pursed in instinctive reproach, then stretched into a smile instead.

"You're looking well," she settled on saying.

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm puffing like anything, but thank you for lying, and not telling me I shouldn't have. I'm sick of people telling me what I should or shouldn't do, when it's not them that feel it."

"I wasn't lying," Mary shook her head, but couldn't put into words how much better he looked to be standing and walking at all, still - it had been two weeks at least since she'd seen him and it still caught her like a wonderful surprise. His walking seemed quicker and smoother already; he must be improving by the day and it made her unspeakably happy.

"If you say so," he said, then tipped his head. "Will you come in, now that you're here?"

"I shouldn't, really - I only came to give a few wedding pages from magazines to Lavinia, though I understand she's away. Mama insisted it would be fun, for the two of us to sit and make our plans over tea…" As she saw Matthew's eyebrows lift higher in mirth, she realised she'd spoken far too freely and blushed. "I'm sure it would have been lovely! Lavinia's such a darling after all. I'm sorry to have missed her."

Matthew chuckled, a distant look in his eyes, and Mary couldn't help but feel that he could see through her every word to know exactly what she meant.

"I think I could have guessed that wouldn't have been your idea," he said, a knowing curve to his lips. "Look, don't make me have struggled to the door for nothing. Please come in and have some tea, at least."

He'd half turned to go in before she had the chance to politely refuse once more - it would have taken every ounce of her will to do so anyway - and so she followed him, motioning back to Branson to wait a while.

As they entered the sitting room, and she followed Matthew's gesture to take a seat, she couldn't help but dwell on the fact that this home was now shared by Lavinia, and soon they'd be married and living together here properly, and her heart felt unbearably heavy. It was so much cosier, so much happier, than the gaudy big house she'd share with Richard. The thought of marrying him almost made her shudder. She knew it was a good match, still, advantageous - as much as she'd once hoped for - _strong,_ and _sharp,_ that was what he'd said. For a moment she let herself look at Matthew, really look at him, the softness of his features and the gentleness that once she'd thought weak, but now realised made him all the more handsome for how it reflected his nature. It ached too much to think of, that she'd shattered the love he once had for her, that all of this (and him) might have been hers if only she'd been braver, and so she forced the thought away. Matthew was happy, now, he looked happy at least with that warm, gentle smile and bright eyes, and that seemed some consolation at least.

"It seems such a long time since you've been to see us," she said at last, breaking the silence that had settled. "We've missed you - Papa, especially. I'm afraid we'd gotten rather used to you being there, and I still half expect to see you every time I go into the library!" She smiled, hoping her words didn't sound as serious as she'd meant them.

"Well, you all know where I am…" he said softly, his voice a gentle mockery. "And now you have come here, but not even to see me! I hope I'm not too great a disappointment after you'd hoped to find Miss Swire."

"No, of course not." A hot shiver ran down her back, his gaze was too much, and she straightened her shoulders. "So, Lavinia's gone to London? A visit home before the wedding, I suppose?"

"Something like that. Errands to do with her dress and whatnot, I know it could all be arranged here but it's a good opportunity to see her father, too."

"I'm sure, she must miss him. And you must miss her!" It was painful to say it, and her smile too bright.

"Quite so."

His eyes dropped to his lap, smile faltering, and Mary felt the pinch of a frown. Something about it didn't ring quite right, but then, what had she expected him to say really? Of course he'd miss her, but he was hardly likely to go lamenting about the fact, it had been a stupid thing to say. She shook her head, and fanned the wedding pages in her lap, radiant faces beaming up and mocking her. Somehow this felt even more uncomfortable than talking about it with Lavinia would have been.

"Are you looking forward to the wedding?" She tried again, and cursed herself for not being able to think of anything else to talk about. They'd used to talk for hours, about everything and nothing, God what was the matter with them? The prospect of his marriage seemed to fill the space and hang over them, his delight to her despair, they couldn't escape it here in his house when she'd come to see his fiancée after all.

Matthew's eyes darted to hers, almost wild for a moment as she saw him swallow, then compose his features once more. His lips parted, then he moistened them as his words hovered there. She saw his conflict, but didn't understand it.

"Truth be told, I'm terrified," he said at last, barely more than a whisper though he tried to laugh it off.

Mary just laughed back at him. "Dear Matthew, I'm sure that's a perfectly normal way to feel!"

"I don't know."

"Absolutely, it is. I'm quite sure that most men find the idea of _being_ married a far happier thought than the _getting_ married, don't worry about that."

He shook his head, eyes fixed on hands that had tightened in his lap.

"That's just it, I _don't_ , I… it's all of it. I used to think-" He pressed his lips together. "It doesn't matter, that was a long time ago, and… I know I shouldn't feel what I do."

His low voice quivered on the tension that fell over them, and Mary had never been more glad for the distraction of tea that Molesley brought in at that moment, of milk and sugar lumps and curling, comforting steam. She hardly dared to imagine what Matthew had meant, to consider what he _might_ feel, it wasn't her place and she didn't understand…

The butler retreated once more, and she didn't know what to say to Matthew. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he stared at the teapot, as though he was fighting against saying more, but… more of _what_? Doubts were perfectly normal, she knew that well enough, and was sure it was true of the happiest of couples, but the sudden tension that radiated from the set of Matthew's shoulders seemed to imply something more.

She stood up, and went to put the pages she'd brought on the little table by the window. The tea was still brewing so she lingered a moment, breath lightly clouding the cold glass as she looked out at the garden, hugging her arms about herself.

"I love to see the flowers in spring," she said, as much to herself as to him. "Your garden here is so pretty. I know Downton's grounds are impressive, but it's a walk to see any flowerbeds… There's nothing like the bloom of colour after the winter seems to have washed everything out."

"I never used to think much of flowers," Matthew said softly, and Mary smiled as she remembered asking him that, once, when they'd both been so young and shortsighted. His voice drew nearer. "It was the poppies that made me appreciate them more, in France. Always blooming on troubled ground, all red and proud, like they were in defiance of all the terrible things that had been. Now they help me remember that there's always hope, a… silver lining, I suppose, whatever you may face."

His voice was velvet and low, just behind her ear, and she became perfectly still but for the rapid flutter of her pulse as she realised just how close he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder to the garden beyond.

She turned her head, just enough to see him, and her eyebrow arched with surprise.

"Don't you need your stick?"

"Not when you're by my side."

Warmth washed over her, his breath on the back of her neck making every hair stand on end, the heat of his body so close to her own, and she longed to sink back into him… She had that feeling again, somehow delicious and familiar, of the whole world shrinking to him and her and nothing else at all. But it couldn't, it was surely just in her head, and then -

"Oh God, Mary…" His lips were by her ear, and she felt weak, and then the gentle touch of his hand at her elbow as if to stop her slipping away. "I'm so, so sorry. Do you know how sorry I am?"

She could hear the ache of regret in his voice, and could imagine it etched deep on his brow though she couldn't see his face.

"What for?"

He didn't answer, not right away, and each second ticked painfully slow as his fingers brushed distractedly along her arm. Sense told her her to draw away, but she felt frozen in place. At last he said,

"You know Cousin Violet came to me, and told me to marry you… She said… that you were still in love with me."

"What? When was this?" Shock made her head spin. She couldn't breathe, felt as if he might breathe for her instead, warm and steady at her back.

"A while ago… When we knew I would walk again. I thought she was being ridiculous."

He sounded almost amused, and she couldn't help the nervous laugh that fell from her lips.

"So she was! Classic Granny… What did you say?" _Ridiculous_ , of course it was ridiculous, that Granny had said such a thing to him - what had she been thinking, how could she! - and the very mess they were in, but oh _God_ she loved him, and a voice was screaming at the edge of her consciousness that perhaps… just perhaps… She suddenly realised that her hand had lifted to clasp over his on her arm, clinging tightly to him as she felt the world shift around them.

She felt his sigh from over her shoulder.

"That I couldn't accept Lavinia's sacrifice, of… her life, her children, her future… and then give her the brush-off when I was well again. Well I couldn't, could I?"

"Of course not." Her heart was racing. He should have said because he loved Lavinia, that was why, why hadn't he said that? Why was he saying any of this? Why, _oh God_ … Slowly she turned, still holding on, and almost fell apart at the the raw longing in his face, honed on that sharp blue of his eyes that were fallen and fixed on her lips, _oh God…_

"…however much I might want to."

 _Oh God._

Her eyes flashed wide, he was so close to her, holding her, and he _wanted_ … Oh, God, he wanted, and she wanted, and she barely had time to breathe "Absolutely not…" before his lips were pressed to hers, kissing softly, making everything seem to spin.

She was lost, hands sliding to his shoulders, then chest, palms finding the firmness there then clutching to stop her from swaying. For five years she'd thought she remembered how heavenly it was to kiss him… but this was more, the pleasure sharper and sweeter for the innocence they'd lost since then, his mouth insistent and coaxing in wordless murmurs of love. A fierce, wonderful ache burst in her heart, it was _Matthew_ and she loved him - God, how she loved him! - and racing through her veins was the dawning idea that _he loves you, he loves you, he does love you, he does love you too!_ How could he not, when he kissed her like this, his lips parting and bittersweet and achingly claiming her own, his fingers ghosting on the smoothness of her cheek and his arm around her waist… She was alight, prickling with the heat of desire and his warmth, but…

She gasped back a dry sob at the slip of their lips parting, her forehead resting to his as she felt his laboured breaths.

"Oh God, Mary," he whispered again, and it almost undid her. "What can we do?"

Her palm smoothed down his chest, feeling the rise and fall, pressing her lips together as if to imprint the taste of him there.

"What _can_ we do? Does it change anything?" Her voice was small, accompanied by a little shrug. It hung unspoken between them, the _it_ , that she loved him desperately and perhaps he loved her, if she could believe this. She felt as though it should change things - it should change everything, the whole world shifting and becoming new in the realisation of it, and _how long_ … Had he harboured this love all these years, just as she had, aching and consuming? And she hadn't known, he hadn't known, because there'd been too much else in their way - how stupid they'd been!

"It should," he whispered fiercely, and again it hung between them, both waiting for the next word to hover on his lips, that _but_ that felt so terribly cruel. "Lavinia has given up - _would_ have given up - everything for me, she doesn't deserve my rejection now. I couldn't. I couldn't live with myself and be happy."

Mary's smile was small, and sad.

"I know," she said, warm with affection, "and it does you credit. Even if you could, I am not free. Anyway, you wanted to marry Lavinia! I know it, you were so happy - I'd never seen you so happy, as much as I can admit now that it pained me to see."

Matthew's face fell, breath hissing between his teeth.

"Damn me for saying it - sorry - I was happy because I could stand, and I was so swept up in the fact that I _could_ , and could be married… I'm so sorry." He sounded so broken, and Mary felt her throat tighten with tears, wondering how it could be _more_ painful to know that he loved her than it had been to believe that he didn't.

"Don't be," she shook her head, "This mess isn't anyone's fault. If it was, it was mine."

His thumb brushed over her lips, silencing the apology that she knew he couldn't understand.

"Oh Mary, if I could do as I wished, as everything within me wants to… but Lavinia came back, she chose to come back and-"

"Did she?"

Later, she would blame the way his touch and his words had made her tremble, devastatingly tender, _wanting_ unspeakable things that made her lose all sense. She shouldn't have said it, and instantly wished that she hadn't, because he knew at once, she saw it in his eyes that pierced her and knew her, too well.

"What do you mean?"

Her voice was remarkably smooth and steady, in contrast to how she felt.

"I don't mean anything, it's alright."

"Mary."

"Please, forget I said anything. It really doesn't matter."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know you well enough to know that's not true. Please, Mary, tell me."

She took a step back from him, releasing a breath as his hands fell from her arms at the sense of loss she felt. It really wasn't her business, and he probably knew it already, and it made very little difference to the outcome of things…

"When Lavinia came back to Downton, to be with you again," she said, staring at her hands that twisted together, "I remember she'd been surprised that we weren't expecting her. The thing is - it seems it was Mama who had told her to come. I overheard by accident, the day you left. Lavinia thanked her for suggesting it. I hadn't known, though it might not be a surprise to you."

Matthew's face was slack. "No," he said slowly. "I hadn't known either. I don't understand… why…"

"Heaven only knows how Mama's mind works," Mary shrugged, though she knew perfectly well why it had been. But he looked at her then, those blue eyes searching hers, and she saw something dawn in them, before a low, bitter chuckle left his lips.

"Oh God. Was she afraid you'd fall in love with a cripple if I wasn't tied to someone else? How damned unfair. Sorry."

"Don't be," she soothed his bristling anger, her hand on his arm once more. She couldn't bear for him to dwell on it anymore, not when there was so much more to it than that, and she had been so in love with him after all. "Anyway, no matter whose idea, Lavinia _did_ come back, because she loved you, and you're getting married in a few weeks. That matters far more than why."

"I know, but - _damn_ , it isn't fair, when I-"

He pressed his lips closed to stop the words from falling. He didn't need to say it anyway, she saw it radiate from his expression and she knew it completely. It overwhelmed her, _he loves you_ , and before she could think any more she was in his arms again with the exquisite taste of his lips against hers. She loved him so much it ached, in every fibre of her being, and kissed him as if it could make up for the five years she'd longed for him. She hummed with pleasure, mouth opening to his, the slip of his tongue so gentle and _oh God,_ she loved this, and him, and…

A noise intruded, a bustle, a click, then footsteps and Isobel's voice calling "Hello? Ah, Mr Molesley, thank you-"

They sprang apart, Mary whisking past him as Matthew gripped the window frame for support. She could barely draw a breath before the door opened, and Isobel stepped cheerily in.

"Hello, dear - Mary, what a nice surprise! I'm sorry you've missed Lavinia, but thank you for coming in anyway. I see you've got tea already - goodness, it's still a full pot and gone stone cold, how did you let that happen?"

 **TBC**

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Inspiration of course was taken from 2x08... I couldn't get the dance into this context, sadly, but hope you enjoyed the reworking! One of those scenes that just popped into my head, and had to come out as I saw it. I'd love to know what you thought!_

 _I'm unlikely to manage an update before Christmas, so in the meantime I wish you all such a happy time, whether you celebrate or not. :)_


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